Depths of Despair
by Gorgolo Chick
Summary: The Agency attempts to reclaim Agent Bobby Hobbes after he is prevented from committing suicide.


Disclaimer: This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. No intent exists to infringe on the rights of the owners of The Invisible Man. The author makes no profit.

Summary: The Agency attempts to reclaim Agent Bobby Hobbes after he is prevented from committing suicide.

Depths of Despair

By Gorgolo Chick

_The Arab philosopher/poet Omar Khayyam warns us that "The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit shall lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all thy tears wash out a word of it." Some people view this fatalistically. They think it means that once we let some shit happen, we're stuck with the consequences. I think it means that if something really bad happens, you need to go on to find a way to fix it, not stop and moan over the mistakes you've made._

_Circumstances and stupidity – including mine – came very close to destroying Bobby Hobbes. Once we talked him out of putting a bullet into his own heart, the real pain started. But I'd rather think of it as starting a journey back from the depths of despair._

The lighting in the room was dim – shafts of indirect sunlight let in by the wooden blinds covering the windows. At one end, like a royal dais, stood a large desk flanked by flags, with an oversized emblem of a low-level federal agency hanging directly behind it.

At the other end two people sat in silence. A man of compact muscular build, balding and haggard-faced, was gazing quietly at one of the darkened wall sconces. Facing him was a young blonde woman who felt as if her worry and concern must be etching themselves into her features.

"Bobby," the woman spoke quietly but firmly. She knew she had to get him talking if she were to achieve anything positive from this session.

Without any outward reaction, he finally responded. "You think I don't know, after last night, how close you are to putting me in a mental hospital? That wouldn't do any good, Claire. I'm no crazier today than I was last week. I just…" He shook his head slowly and looked at her, and Claire could see that the sadness in his eyes was dreadfully calm and perfectly sane.

"Bobby, I understand more than you think. And I want to understand. Please, tell me what you're feeling."

He looked away again.

She pressed a little harder, "I am desperate to keep you out of the hospital, but you have to give me something to reassure me you won't kill yourself if you're not hospitalized."

"How about if I give you what my shrinks are always talking about wanting? I promise I won't do it without discussing it with you ahead of time, okay? You know Bobby Hobbes is a man of his word." He looked a little sadder still after making that promise.

"That's enough for now." She laid one hand on his leg to get him to look at her again.

"That's enough for your doctor. But as your friend," she paused, trying to make her earnest concern plain to him. "As your friend, I desperately need to know what is making you so unhappy. Is it… everything that's happened, everything that made you feel so despondent?" She wondered if she should speak of the events of the last few days more directly, but decided against it. "Or is there something else, too?"

He closed his eyes and swallowed. After a moment he took a deep breath and opened them again. "Alright, Claire. I can guarantee you're not going to like it. But its the way it is, and there's nothing any of us can do about it." Still he hesitated.

When he started again, he took a different tack. "Claire, like I say, if I decide I was right in the first place, I'll discuss it with you before I go ahead and kill myself." She suppressed a shiver at how casually he said that.

"But I see now that I can't do that. Fawkes… he needs to be protected, and for some reason he seems to want me to be the one to do it. As long as that's true, I don't have the right to abandon him." He looked her straight in the eyes. "Can we leave it at that?"

"No, Bobby, we can't." She hated forcing him to address the reasons behind his near-suicide, but there was no other way for her to work out how to help him. Not without bringing in a professional in the field of psychology, who would surely hospitalize him for his own safety. That, she feared, would be the final impetus to push him beyond retrieval. It was up to her, with considerable training in the field and a solid understanding of the man himself, to lure him back from the mental and emotional brink.

"For one thing," she explained, "it's more than your protection he needs. He needs _you_. You're his friend, his brother more than Kevin ever was." He had to recognize the truth of that. It was because of Bobby's friendship and mentoring that Darien Fawkes had made the adjustment from petty crime to government service.

Before her eyes did more than burn with the threat of tears, Claire clamped down on her reaction to the thought of how the two men had changed one another, as well as those around them.

"And you're my friend too." She pointed out. "You have to see that by taking your own life, you would be robbing us both of so very much. We may not always show it, and God we're both so sorry for that, but we both love you very deeply."

Bobby abruptly shoved his chair back, away from her, and lurched to his feet.

"No!" His voice seemed to hold a sudden note of terror, and his arm came up between them. "Don't say that, Claire, don't force me to face something like that! It's too much to bear right now." He moved to the shaded windows and seemed to huddle there before tilting a slat just enough to gaze outside.

His words stunned her. After a few moments of silence she finally made a weak reply. "I don't understand, Bobby. What is it you can't bear? What we said to you out of careless stupidity? Can't you see we didn't mean to…"

"That I could handle. I worked it out, like in my own mind." He glanced at her and away again. "I could make sense of having driven Darien to hate me, of you finding me… a little bit disgusting."

"Bobby, no," Claire interrupted. "That was never true." She heard herself contradicting his perception and pressed her lips together. She would never reach him that way. "I'm sorry. I don't deny that we made you feel that way. Please go on; can you explain to me what is so unbearable?"

"When I realized that you …" he paused and shrugged slightly. "When I thought that the two of you didn't need or want me around… Okay, that upset me. But then, I realized that it also set me free."

Claire barely dared to breath. This, she was sure, was the heart of the matter.

"If I didn't have a job or any prospects any more," His words made her want to curse the routinely careless cruelty of their superior and his aide. But she had to keep her focus on Bobby. "and no friends, not even an ex-wife to care if I was around… I realized that I didn't haveto _stay_ around."

What he said made so dangerously much sense. Despite feeling she'd come to know the erratic nature of this man, Claire realized she'd never stopped to consider what it must be like to live inside a mind unremittingly assaulted by paranoia, depression, mania, and the need for a constant dosing with psychotropic chemicals.

Bobby continued. "Now I have to try to accept that I'm needed, and that's enough to deal with. Don't try to tell me there's more to it than that."

She struggled with his words, trying to understand the emotions they expressed. It seemed as if in his view the reasons to live, and not the perceived reasons to give up, were the burden.

He turned around and studied her face as if he could see the struggle with perception.

"I told you there was no way for you to understand," he added. "But I know my duty, and that means no more choosing what makes _me_ happy."

Finally she managed to make a weak reply. "What makes you happy? Do I understand right that you are saying that the thought of… of dying… makes you happy?"

"Maybe I _am_ crazy," he turned back to the window. After a moment's hesitation he added softly, "If so, its a miserable life and you should have let me leave it."

"No, I think you're probably as completely sane as anyone." Perhaps it was the very clarity of his despair that made her say that, and fully believe it. "If you have good reason for wishing you were dead, then wishing it isn't crazy. But please, tell me what those reasons are. Maybe I can help."

Bobby laughed hollowly. The sound sent more shivers down Claire's spine, but she struggled to conceal that reaction, too.

"If you promise not to tell Fawkes." He didn't pause to force that promise, though. "Its bad enough to burden you with this, but after what I've already done to him…" he glanced around again, and focused on the quiet tears she only then realized were trailing down her cheeks.

"Oh, Claire," he interrupted himself. "I'm sorry. Please, don't be hurt, I didn't mean it that way. I'm so sorry I did this to you, too." His stricken look made her tears flow even harder, but Claire rose and put her arms around him, pulling him to her and holding him in silence except for their mingled breathing and the sound of a few soft sobs she couldn't stifle.

Some time later she gently led him back to the group of chairs, and they sat side by side with her embrace nearly intact. His hands, which had hung at his side the whole time, now rested in his lap. As though he was willing to open part of himself to her, but not all.

"The pain belongs to all of us, Bobby." She spoke slowly and firmly. "You didn't hurt me; you didn't hurt Darien. We hurt because something is hurting you so terribly." She squeezed his shoulders. "Please," she asked, "you have to tell me what it is, if we are ever to get beyond the pain."

"Yeah, well, guess what? That is the pain. I can't ever get beyond it, because if I did, then I would be hurting you more than ever." He reached up and eased her arms from around him, but at least he stayed sitting beside her. She let him put that physical distance between them, because she felt that he was finally entering the true center of his emotional motivation.

"I said it to Darien, before he freaked out on me like that. I don't guess he understood it, thank God." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But you will," he continued. "Because you think logically. Maybe if you understand you can help me protect Darien from me. Don't," he held up his hand to forestall an interruption she was too wary to make. "I know you're going to say Darien doesn't need to be protected from me, but I _have_ hurt him terribly by not realizing how much he needs me."

Bobby raised his eyes to stare at an Audubon print on the wall opposite their seats.

"Let me say this, let me try to make you understand, at least," he said firmly. Claire stayed silent, listening for the explanation that might help them to a breakthrough.

"Claire, when I had made my decision… when I decided it was time to stop fighting life and finally escape… When I settled everything and the only thing I had left to do was die…" his voice was slowly becoming softer, somehow more distant. "Claire, it was wonderful. For the first time in my life I actually know what happiness is… and now I have to promise to avoid that happiness. But when I was certain that death was coming to set me free…"

His face cleared suddenly as he seemed to focus on something not tangibly in the room. "Oh!" he smiled a relaxed smile until his eyes met hers again. Then the pain and misery surged back into his face.

She felt as though someone had switched the lens on her microscope and allowed her to see the form of the cells beneath it for the first time. But it was Bobby's whole world that had snapped into focus for her.

"Claire, you have no idea what just living is like for me. The meds help, they let me go on with the struggle, but nothing can make the fear of something unreal go away. Until I was sitting there on the beach last night, I haven't had a moment in longer than I can think without battling the paranoia, the depression, the confusion and the voices that are always there waiting to begin whispering things to me that would make you shrivel up and…" He shook his head again.

"But last night, it all went away. I sat there and I enjoyed the sound of the waves, the night air and the stars, and I was relaxed and I felt like I knew what my existence meant. I was free! Do you know, when I first heard Fawkes moving around, it didn't bug me a bit. It didn't matter that some unknown person was creeping up on me, because they couldn't hurt me.

"Except, well, he did. He showed me that he needed me, and I couldn't abandon him. So I had to come back – I was already dead, Claire. I just hadn't shut the door behind me yet, and then he… you…" He buried his face in his hands.

The silence closed in on them again. Claire sat studying the motionless man beside her. She chewed on her lower lip, thinking hard about what he had said. Shakespeare made sense to her, now, in this context. Like Hamlet, Bobby faced great torture in the act of being, and was promised relief by the lure of not being. But his innate sense of duty to another, to one whom he loved, drove him to cooperate with her here and now. He was expressing an acceptance of her intent to keep him in life. But he was also showing her the crushing weight of his life.

Finally, she stood up and walked around to take a different chair facing Bobby. It was time to begin the task of giving him back a sense of support from outside to ease that weight.

"Alright," she said firmly, trying to get his attention. When he lifted his eyes to gaze at her, she began speaking evenly.

"I won't pretend I can understand what it's like for you. Not really, but at least I do have enough training in clinical psychology to intellectually know what it is you're describing. I know I can accept your promise not to kill yourself without discussing it with me first. Now, may I make a few suggestions?"

Bobby nodded slowly, but his expression remained hopeless.

"You have been through a severe shock, with Vivian's sudden death, and the unfortunate series of incidents that occurred here. You are a strong man, Bobby. I think far stronger than anyone, including you, realizes; but you've been pushed beyond all limits."

Bobby shook his head, but didn't speak.

"I would like to give you a sedative, and I want you to just rest for a few days. And I think…"

"No."

Claire stopped and simply watched Bobby, waiting for him to expand on his refusal.

"I'm lucky the chief hasn't canned my ass yet," he informed her. "But if I'm not at work for a few days, he'll have no choice but to boot me and then what good will I be for Darien?"

This, at least, she already had the answer to. "Actually, his instructions to me were, and I quote, 'Do whatever you have to, take whatever time it takes, but get me my best damn agent back.' And yes, he meant you."

Bobby gazed at her silently for several seconds before he sighed.

"Claire, I know you mean well, but it's not going to do any good to make up stuff to try and make me feel good about myself. One thing I do know is my worth around here, and it's not anywhere…"

She knew sympathy could only get them so far. Claire chose to cut him off. "So you're saying I just lied to you?"

Bobby closed his eyes and exhaled slowly before he responded.

"I'm saying we all lie for good reason sometimes."

"Okay, that is true." Claire leaned toward him and repeated his name until he opened his eyes again to meet hers. "But you know very well that this is a situation where I must have your complete trust. Therefore, I am not and will not lie to you. I will not exaggerate, stretch the truth, or cover-up. Everything I am telling you is the simple truth." She held his eyes until he nodded slowly.

"Maybe you'd better think about that for a while," she continued. "While you are resting up and getting over the worst of the shock I believe you're still in. If necessary I'll get the Official…" she paused, and suspected the thought that had just struck her must be producing at least a hint of a twinkle in her eyes. "No, I'll get _Eberts_ to come in here and tell you whether or not your job here at the Agency is secure. Do you want me to do that?"

"What is this, some sort of aversion therapy?" Bobby actually smiled a touch at the weak joke.

"Whatever it takes." She smiled back. "We are not going to lose you."

She leaned in again and held his gaze. It was time to plunge in and commit totally to the course of action she saw before her. "Now, above and beyond your immediate mental state," she said, "I want to be sure you actually relax. Darien has asked me to let him help watch over you." There was an obvious conflict of reactions to her mention of his partner. "And before you start to think of it, we are not going to consider this a suicide watch. I have your word for that not being necessary." And if she were judging this wrongly, judging him wrongly, her decision would prove tragic.

"You are deeply unhappy, however, and I want to try to start to change that." She hoped he could see how the patently supervisory watch was also an offer of possible comfort. "And having someone with you who cares, who wants to see it change, should help."

"Well, I won't argue with you, but I don't see how anything is going to change it." Bobby rose and squared his shoulders. "Like I said, it's just a fact of life, but one I'll learn somehow to survive for however long I have to. If in the meantime you really want me to go through some sort of therapy, have a babysitter, whatever, I'll go along with it." His lips formed an unconvincing smile as Claire stood to join him. "I'll even take more meds, take time off, whatever you say."

XXX

"I think I'd better tell you up front that this scares the crap out of me."

Claire had come to find Darien as soon as she'd finally gotten Bobby to accept a sedative. The two of them were now back in the Official's office, along with that worthy and Eberts. Claire was explaining her strategy for easing their coworker and friend back to some semblance of normalcy.

"If you don't think you can do it, tell me now," Claire responded. "I'm sure we're only going to have one chance to get this right. If we screw up again, it won't matter if Bobby doesn't actively try to kill himself. His subconscious will make sure something kills him. Which wouldn't take long, in this business."

"I must protest again that this situation ought to be handled by professionals."

"Eberts," Darien cut Claire off before she could respond. "You've known Bobby longer than I have. I know he's been in a nuthouse before; not counting that time he and you both got tangled with that damn LSD-laced Christmas card. And I know he's terrified of going back. We turn this over to anyone, that's where they're going to put him. Now, you take his usual somewhat shaky mental state, throw in depression so bad he was happy about killing himself, and then make his worst fears come true. What do you think is going to happen?"

That brought on a long silence.

"That is not going to happen." The Official placed his hands flat on his desk and ponderously levered himself to his feet.

"Easy there, fatman." Darien frowned at his boss. "I'm not saying I don't want to do this."

"Darien, I believe that for once we are in complete accord on what must be done. Bobby is a man of great value to me, and I believe he has proven himself a true friend to you. I think you owe it to him to make this effort."

"I'm just making sure everybody understands that I am one very scared invisible man. Hell, I already did more than my fair share of screwing Bobby up."

"A lot of things went into making Bobby the way he is," the Official countered. "Frankly, I know of things he's survived that have completely destroyed other agents."

Darien noticed a look of surprise on Eberts' face.

"Between his experiences in the Gulf War and his so-called failures with both the FBI and the CIA, a perfectly mentally balanced individual would question the value of his life. Certainly those fools who gave him up had no idea of his capabilities. They had no doubt that he was rendered useless by some of the things he was forced to go through in service to his country."

Darien sat up straight and glared at his boss. "Wait a minute, are you telling us that there are …"

"I am not telling you," The Official returned the glare with interest, "anything more than what you should already know by now. Bobby is a survivor; he just needs a good excuse not to give up now. I used you once to pull him back from surrender, and I think you're even more right for the job now."

Darien's jaw dropped open. Out the corners of his eyes he saw that Eberts and Claire were staring as well.

"Mexico," he finally muttered weakly.

"Mexico," The Official confirmed. "It was very convenient for me that Arnaud led you right into that particular area. Bobby had been on a long slow decline in self-confidence at that point, which was why he was on extended field assignment down there, drinking himself into a stupor. I figured a brash young idiot without a clue might just be what was needed to break him out of it. Especially someone dealing with such a unique problem as an invisibility gland. He always has taken very seriously his responsibility for the welfare of others, and he deals with the bizarre with considerable equanimity."

"Now, wait a minute. If you're always so worried about Bobby's confidence why the hell would you…"

The Official cut Darien off again. "I use whatever methods I think will work best to get the most out of my agents. Unfortunately, even I don't always catch on to a sudden change in circumstances in time."

Claire shifted in her seat beside Darien. "I really can't tell," she commented in a thoughtful tone, "If you are the biggest manipulative bastard that ever lived, or some sort of psychological genius."

"If by biggest you mean fattest, he's the biggest _and_ a genius manipulative bastard," Darien told her. "What the hell, we knew that already, didn't we? But okay, I figure he knows what he's talking about, and if you and him both think I can help save Bobby, that's good enough reason to go for it."

He almost got a grin out of seeing Eberts drop back into his usual expressionless look. Nice to know that even the toady didn't know everything that went on in the fat bastard's brain.

XXX

"Yo, Bobby." Darien entered Claire's domain, known as 'The Keep', to find his partner stretched out on the examination chair there – the 'demented dentist's chair' to Darien. "Comfy, man?" he asked as he crossed to Bobby's side.

"Yeah, I guess. It's not really that bad, kid." Bobby yawned and struggled upright. "Then again, I haven't had the kinds of experiences you have in it, so what do I know?"

"Sometimes I think you know more than I do. After all, I'm pretty wacko most times you've brought me in here in the nick of time." Darien sat down beside him.

"Well, we're partners, right? Look, Fawkesy, I'm sorry about last night. That was really stupid of me."

"No way, Hobbesy. Look, I'm not going to beat around the bush or pretend things are normal – well, whatever normal is for this place. You were going to shoot yourself, and I can't blame you. Thing is, I hate that I helped make you … No, forget that. The only thing I give a damn about now is you. Claire gave us a rundown on what your feelings are."

Bobby's head came up and he stared at the door, where Claire herself stood quietly watching them.

"Don't bother getting pissed at her. You didn't really think I didn't hear you last night, did you? Hell, I mentioned it to her before she could decide whether she had to keep your secret or not. If anyone can understand an honest-to-goodness feeling that life is just too much, its me. I wasn't just trying to shock you last night, either; I really have felt that way myself. For a long time the main thing keeping me from it has been you, and everything you've taught me about keeping up the good fight." He hung his arm across Bobby's shoulders. "So how about you give me a chance to return the favor?"

"Sure." Bobby's words were beginning to slur from the effects of the powerful sedative he'd taken. "I just gotta get my head on straight, that's all."

"Okay, Bobby?" Darien shook him lightly by the shoulders. "Claire says this whole thing is going to require complete honesty from all of us. Hell, you, me and her, we're really about all we've got. So don't try to pretend with me, and I won't pretend with you, or tell you any lies to make you feel better. Do we have a deal?"

Bobby looked up at him for a long moment, then across at Claire. "Deal," he finally answered, speaking slowly and carefully. "I'll give it my best, even if I don't believe it can do any good. I'll listen to both of you and do whatever you think I should do. But even if this doesn't work, Fawkesy, I promise I won't leave you as long as you want me around."

"Good. Just remember, I'm a pain in the ass by nature, and I tend to bitch at those I love."

A weak smile ghosted across Bobby's lips. "Kid, you bitch at anybody, at any time."

"So true." Darien looked at Claire. "So, what now? Can I take him home and put him to bed?" He grinned at Bobby. "Looks like you're about half out of it, anyway."

Claire came across the room to join them. "I think that would be the best thing, right now. Bobby, I know you never sleep very much, but I think sleep is the best healer for you right now. I've increased the levels of your medication, which should help with that. By the way, don't try to do anything strenuous, because its going to have you pretty dopey. But in case you can't get to sleep, or can't sleep soundly, I'm giving Darien more of this sedative for you." She cast a sharp look at Darien. "Just don't give him more than I've prescribed," she told him sternly. "This many powerful drugs can be very dangerous if handled improperly."

"Yes, mom."

Bobby reached across and punched Darien on the shoulder lightly. "Be nice," he admonished. "I'm too sleepy to be tryna teach you manners." He slid from the seat and stood a moment steadying himself with a little unobtrusive help from his friends. "Always gotta be the punk," he muttered.

Claire met Darien's eyes over Bobby's head with a smile and a nod.

"Don't forget to tell the punk how often you wan 'im to call and report on my condition, there, Claire." Bobby looked first at her, then at Darien. "Jeez, youse two. Just 'cause I'm suicidally depressed don't mean I'm disconnected from reality, or nutten."

"That's right, Brooklyn," Darien agree. "'Nutten' like that." He guided Bobby's steps toward the exit.

"Check in every two hours, Darien," Claire called after them. "I'll come by this evening so you can go home and get your stuff. We'll decide more in a few days."

XXX

Bobby dozed in Darien's car, and made little comment as Darien guided him up to his apartment. He did make an effort to grin when his partner followed him into the bedroom.

"Think I can get to bed myself, kid. 'Less you wanna undress an' tuck me in?"

"Nah." Darien glanced around the Spartan bedroom. "You don't mind if I check the place out, do you Bobby? I know you won't…"

"Hey, reassure yourself, Fawkesy. I would, if I was you and you was me." Bobby shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the closet while Darien checked the bathroom. "Electric razor," he called to his partner. "Nothing sharp I can think of. Keep my meds in the kitchen, far right-hand cabinet. 'Fish confiscated all my weapons." He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, then looked up when Darien returned. "Anything else you start worryin' 'bout, ask". He folded his socks and set them on the nightstand.

"Okay. Well, I'll let you get your rest, then." Darien said. "You don't mind if I pop in from time to time to see how you're doing?"

"Sure, no problem." His movements were becoming more sluggish as he unbuttoned his dress shirt and pulled it off. "Sorry got no pool table, but hey, always cable, right?" He looked at the shirt in his hand and at the closet door and then leaned over to toss it across the back of a chair near the bed.

"What, no video game system?"

"Donated to charity. Sorry. No good for da image, ya know, somebody comes ta clear out da place."

"Uh, yeah, I can see that." Darien focused on keeping his expression calm despite the casualness of Bobby's comment.

Bobby yawned widely. "Man, alla sudden, I'm so tired." He flopped back onto the still-made bed and rolled over.

Darien left him to check the rest of the apartment. He found a light blanket in a closet and went back into the bedroom. He gazed sadly down at the sleeping form, small in stature, but with powerful shoulders and arms exposed by the sleeveless undershirt he wore. He was reassured to hear a soft buzzing snore, familiar to him from shared stakeouts. After a moment, he draped the blanket carefully, then stepped over to pick up the shirt that had slid to the floor and carried it to the closet.

"You sleep, Bobby," he said softly as he turned out the light. "I'm here for you. I'm watching your back."


End file.
